By Anthony Ward

Thuds and creaks of perplexing timber haunt the house,
As I seek solitude against the grandfather clock
Chiming down the hall,
Staring at the radio in order to listen harder,
As I rub my thumb across the dented desk
Tracing scratches of a lifetimes endeavour.


How I love to watch the weather outside the window
Immersed before the warm glow of the hearth,
Hearing the wind wail down the chimney,
Stirring the smell of soot evoking the past.

Rain drops down the window to reflect
An autumnal embankment of age,
Re-embarking my halcyon days,
When movies were magical,

Discovering music was an experience,
And reading filled me with a sense of wonder.

I sit nursing a book I haven’t read in years.
Foxing liver spots reminding me of the time I last read it,
Contemplating what I was thinking back then,
When youth was my ally, and the future a memory.

What was I doing that day?
Where was I going that night?
What was the weather like?
Was it windy like this?
Did the soot evoke the senses
To make me wonder what I’d be doing now.
How I yearn for the youth that left me,
Back when time tread a slower pace,
Memories I remember having
Despite forgetting what they were.
Like the wind in the distance,
I recall the sensation I no longer feel.
Only knowing I once knew it.
A tormenting pain that heals once I cease to think of it.

Is this tinted rose losing its petals
From compostable memories
Set upon the mantlepiece?
Stuttering under effort of recollection,
Lumbering with emotions, like treading snow.
And how it snowed back then,
Having to tunnel your way out of your home,
Stepping on top of lampposts.

Streets tanned by their sodium, like old papers jaundiced with age.
Before the milky way became submerged beneath articulated light.
When pavements were for pedestrians rather than parking lots,
Rickety bikes leaned against pitched railings.
And televisions were convex, not concave.
No pristine digital images, but grainy photographic landscapes.
I drop the needle onto the vinyl as it crackles Creole Love Call.

Anthony tends to fidget with his thoughts in the hope of laying them to rest. He has managed to lay them in a number of establishments, including, Jerry Jazz Musician, Synchronized Chaos, Literary Yard, Mad Swirl, Shot Glass Journal and Ariel Chart.

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